It Takes Two
by Lazarache
Summary: It had been two years since John's world had been turned upside down. It had been two days since John's world had been reversed, like a repaired compass. Mary tries to convince John to give Sherlock another chance. Worstan, some friendly Johnlock. Oneshot. Takes place after the events of the bonfire. WARNING: SERIES 3 SPOILERS


It had been two years since John's world had been turned upside down.

It had been two days since John's world had been reversed, like a repaired compass.

Two years since he screamed the name "Sherlock" in horror as he watched his friend fall to his death.

Two days since he dreamed that he was back in Baker Street.

Two years since he had been left alone.

Two days since he planned to finally let go and propose to Mary—

Until _he _returned.

* * *

John dozed in the cab on the way home from hospital. It had been a long night. Fortunately, the police interview had been short; what had happened to him was self explanatory. His head throbbed dully, as the medicine he was given still had not fully kicked in. His clothes smelled of gasoline and he felt the fumes begin to add to his headache. All he wanted was to go home. Mary gave him a reassuring rub of his arm and he gave her a tired smile.

"You'll be awake in no time with those pills, won't you?" she asked kindly.

"Unfortunately" he replied. "I'm tired."

"I can imagine. You've had a long day" she sympathized. "I'm glad you're safe."

He leaned towards her and kissed her chastely.

"So am I. Thank you, Mary." He looked out the window at the buildings across the way.

There was a comfortable silence for a few moments, before Mary chose to break it.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

John looked at her with lit eyes and a small tweak of his lips disguised as a smile. "Yeah" he replied, with the faintest of sighs. "I'm fine, love." He proceeded to continue looking out the window, and his jaw clenched, revealing a small quiver in his cheek. A telltale sign.

Mary simply reached over and held his hand. Trying to reason with him when he shut her out was well near impossible, and the back of a cab did not seem the best of locations to pursue an endeavour of such an emotional nature.

A few quiet minutes later, Mary and John were inside their flat, preparing themselves for bed (hopefully). With John's medicine containing a fairly large amount of caffeine, there was no telling how long John would be awake. Mary hoped it would not be long; however, she would stay up with him until he fell asleep, regardless of how long it took. Besides, she had to talk to him about what had happened that night.

She slid into pyjamas and sat on their of their bed, waiting for John to emerge from the bathroom.

John emerged from the loo and removed his robe, revealing an undershirt and loose sweats.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Fine. Fine" he replied. "My hand's gotten a little shaky from whatever's in the medicine, but I'll live. I don't believe I've ever had it before."

"That's good" she replied. A knowing, yet sympathetic smile began to appear on her face. "How are you _really_ feeling?"

John, having raised the sheets so that he could join her, stopped as soon as she had finished asking her question.

"I'm fine" he said. "Really." He went under the covers and reached to turn out the lamp at his nightstand.

Mary put a hand on his shoulder. "You know that answer isn't going to work for me. I saw how you reacted in the cab."

John closed his eyes and inhaled slowly.

"Remember what Dr Thompson told you about holding it in" she persuaded.

"Mary, dear, I'm tired, I've had a long day and an even longer week, I've been bloody kidnapped and almost killed for chrissake— please, let me rest."

"I will, once you talk to me."

"Fine." He sighed, and with a quick cock of the head and a subtle rolling of the eyes, he began: "I didn't like being kidnapped. I felt afraid. Fire is warm."

Mary pouted, unhappy with his vague answer.

"There. Now let me rest." He pulled the switch on his lamp and reached to hold Mary.

"No. Not until you talk to me." She inched away from him.

"Mary..."

"Goodnight, John."

"Mary" he protested.

"Good_night_, John."

He sighed in defeat. "You know I'm not good at this."

"And you will get better if you practice" she replied, rolling on her back.

The couple laid in bed silently. Mary considered giving him a prod before he gave a short sigh.

"It's not about the kidnapping" he began bluntly.

She turned to face him, using her arm as a pillow.

"It's... Sherlock" he said in a voice of a man almost ashamed.

"If it's about how he's back, no-one expects you to forgive him overnight—"

"It's not about that. It's that he... he just..." he paused for a minute as he pondered how to explain this to his soon to be fiancée.

"He doesn't understand how much it hurt me for him to leave. He acts as though this is all some sort of game, that I didn't waste two years of my life wandering like a broken fool only to end up the same way again" he finally admitted.

"John, you know none of this is your fault."

"That's not the point I'm trying to make, Mary." He took a few breaths to compose himself. "He comes back after two years and he thinks he can just _waltz_ back into my life like I was some sort of constant in the universe! Not to mention how casually he seems to take it! Doesn't he realise that it hurt to lose him, that maybe I didn't want him back?"

Mary was glad that their room was dark so that he could not see her smile. He had never opened up as much as he had now, and she was not going to stop it now.

"What if he thinks I'm some sort of piece in his game? I won't be taken advantage of. Not after what he put me through. You saw how I struggled. And now, he wants to play his little games with me, take me crime-solving as if I haven't any other place to be! It's bloody ridiculous, and I won't have it."

"He cares about you, you know" she stated. "I know I've not known him neither as well nor as long as you, but I saw the way he looked at you when we pulled you out of the fire. If that's not love, I don't know what is, John."

"He's got a bloody great way of showing it, then. He doesn't understand that an apology doesn't fix two years of... Why am I even talking about this? It's late. I'm turning in." He turned his back to her.

"John... You've got to give him a chance. I've seen how he is. He just doesn't want to tell you how he really feels. In fact, it sounds like someone I know" she said playfully, prodding him in the back gently. She sensed him pouting. "From what I've seen he really does care about you. Let him show you."

John sighed. "And you expect me to just welcome him with open arms, a nice box of chocolates..." he went on sarcastically.

"Understand that he does care about you, and the rest will follow."

"He hasn't shown me much, now has he?"

"You know him better than me. I'm sure he has his ways of showing it. Perhaps it's all a matter of looking closer."

"I suppose."

Mary nudged his shoulder to her. "Didn't that make you feel better?"

John fully turned himself toward her. "Not particularly" he replied.

She rolled her eyes, despite the darkness of the room. "I know that helped you, John Hamish Watson. Stop complaining."

"I could use more help then" he replied cheekily, his lips brushing over hers slightly.

Mary smiled and kissed him, cupping her hand to his cheek. He deepened the kiss by wrapping his arm around her waist. Her hands went to explore his hair before he broke the kiss, breathing softly.

"Remember what I said?"

"Yes" he said quickly. "Can I hold you now?"'

She shook her head at his speedy answer. "I suppose you've earned it" she sighed, her rump fitting perfectly against his front. "Goodnight then, love."

He leaned over to kiss her cheek. "Goodnight."

Mary smiled when she thought she heard a muffled "thank you" escape his lips.

John didn't want to admit it, but perhaps there _was _a hint of truth in Mary's advice. He just wasn't sure whether he was ready to make the leap. Two years is a long time to be kept waiting after all, and two days is a short time to forgive.

* * *

It had been two years since John's world had been turned upside down.

It had been two days since John's world had been reversed, like a repaired compass.

Two years since he screamed the name "Sherlock" in horror as he watched his friend fall to his death.

Two days since he dreamed that he was back in Baker Street.

Two years since he had been left alone.

Two days since he would not accept an apology—

Until he learned forgiveness came slowly.

* * *

**AN: Would any of you care to tell me if MaryxJohn has a ship name yet? Gracias.**

**-N**


End file.
